


I Hope You’re Feeling Better Now

by lostinthetksea



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Attempt at Humor, Best Friends, Canon Compliant, Childhood Memories, Coma, Crying Iwaizumi Hajime, Crying Oikawa Tooru, Established Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Hospitals, Hurt No Comfort, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru Angst, I’m sorry, M/M, Medical Conditions, Mentions of Death, Non-Graphic Smut, Non-Linear Narrative, Oikawa is in hospital, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unresolved Tension, angst with fluff, haikyuu manga, iwaoi - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 07:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27669590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostinthetksea/pseuds/lostinthetksea
Summary: “This is it...” Sighed Oikawa.“This is goodbye.”—Iwaizumi reminisces on his time with Oikawa. He hopes he is feeling better now.Alternatively known as that Iwaoi angst nobody asked for, inspired by the song Better Now by Oh Wonder.
Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 2
Kudos: 24





	1. Twenty-two hours

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my first published work for the haikyuu fandom, its short but bittersweet. 
> 
> I have created a [Spotify Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/5515oJBCMuqwa9xj2Sd73m?si=PlAl6DfCTom1HYlo3m3xYg) which is what I used whilst writing. If anyone makes an Apple Music or equivalent on another site, please feel free to share with me on Twitter @tbzbaeki !!

Twenty-two hours. The constant beep of the monitor by the bed had scorched into his brain. If Iwaizumi closed his eyes he was certain he would be able to see the cursor move up and down. In and out. Inhale. Exhale. And after twenty-two hours he was surprised it hadn’t driven him insane but he found sickening comfort in it. At least he was alive. That thought itself was peaceful enough to calm his shaking nerves and aching heart. A hospitalised lullaby. He is alive. He is alive. He is _barely_ alive.

The chair he sat on hurt his spine and his legs and back. Everything felt numb with grief. An antibacterial smell wafted off it mixed with his own perspiration. No matter how he moved or aligned himself in that damned chair he found nothing which relaxed his tense shoulders. Every twitch of a muscle made his stomach roll with nausea and the bin that was the other side of the bed was now next to him — a nurse had caught him retching into his palm and she passed it to him with a worried smile and a light-hearted “you don’t want to cause any mess!”

So now he refused to move. Simply letting his body prickle with the loss of sensation. His mouth had dried up completely five hours ago and left the horrid tang of old coffee and acid burning at the back of his mouth. His throat was clogged with mucus from crying and occasionally he would choke on it before relapsing into his quiet weeps that eventually also joined his mind-numbing state. 

Across from Iwaizumi was an obnoxiously white wall. He had been staring at it for a while now and it made his head hurt; it was too bright. It seemed to have been recently repainted explaining the sickening smell and the lack of scratches on the wall. Iwaizumi wished the paint was chipped because at least he would have something to focus on that wasn’t the lifeless figure in the bed next to him. 

Oikawa. His friend, his lover, his loss. The usually charmingly chivalrous face was stoic. Ugly red scrapes across his cheeks and his soft lips busted and oozing clear plasma. Despite Iwaizumi’s attempts to smooth out the frown lines between the boy’s eyebrows, they seemed to find their way back pulling his face into a grimace. Oikawa was in pain and there was nothing Iwaizumi could do to help him. His neck, usually so clean and Iwaizumi’s favourite place to leave chaste kisses — they always made Oikawa squirm and giggle — was wrapped in bandages and held in place by a brace. Sometimes, Oikawa’s jaw would twitch like it would when he was asleep and going to grind his teeth. The inkling hopes that he would wake up soon dulled out and now Iwaizumi just knew that Oikawa was probably having a bad dream. 

Usually, Iwaizumi would lean over, take Oikawa’s slender face between his thumb and forefinger and place lingering kisses just below his lover’s eyes with enough pressure that it would wake him. And as Oikawa struggled to fight off the remains of his nightmare Iwaizumi would nuzzle his nose into his temple, whispering “you’re okay… I’m here… I love you.” 

But now he couldn’t do that because the sight of his boyfriend terrified him. Wires were protruding and flowing around Oikawa like wild snakes that could wrap around his neck like a noose. Iwaizumi didn’t want to risk upsetting the intricate layouts. One wrong move and Iwaizumi was certain he would hurt Oikawa more. It was why he refused to hold his hand despite it being palm up and waiting for him. If he held Oikawa’s hand he wouldn’t be able to let go. 

If he lost Oikawa he wouldn’t be able to let him go. 

His whole future revolved around him; he wouldn’t be able to make it without him. 

—X—

Iwaizumi had known Oikawa all his life. They had practically grown up together. Their mothers had been good friends and in the haze of baby fever, the women were zealous to have their baby boys brought up more like brothers. To have a bond that united them for life. 

If he closed his eyes, Iwaizumi could regress back into his childhood memories. He remembered sitting next to a babbling Oikawa who was adorned in a grey spaceship-print t-shirt — neither of them much older than the age of four — both of them in their own little world designed by Oikawa and crayons. Iwaizumi giggled at his friend making whooshing sounds, floating a green alien plushie above their heads. Laughter dying out as the slobbered-on toy stopped before his face. 

He blinked owlishly, furrowing his eyebrows at the dark stitched on eyes. Behind it, Oikawa was heavily breathing with his mouth open. It would soon be nap time. 

“Tooru, shall we tidy the toys up? Hajime and his mum will have to go soon?” The voice of his mother from the doorway startled Oikawa and he timidly moved away from his friend. 

A whine left the boy's throat, pulling the teddy closer to his chest.

Iwaizumi, naturally the more obedient child, stumbled up. A slew of plushies fell from his lap which he carefully picked up one (his least favourite, a cream bear dressed in a soldiers uniform) in both hands, it being too big to carry in one hand, ready to put it in the basket. With the childish logic that if that bear was at the bottom it would know it is his least favourite as it was squashed by every other toy that was so much better. 

As he went to pick up a second, a chubby hand grabbed the edge of his shorts. 

“No! Iwa-chan, stop!” Oikawa whined selfishly, tugging with enough strength that Iwaizumi had to sit down to avoid his beige cargo shorts from falling. 

This earned him a chastising from his mother who told him to let go of Iwaizumi and to be a good boy. But Oikawa didn’t want his best friend to go. He wanted to nap with his Iwa-chan and look at the planet stickers on his ceiling and read him his book about the moon — apparently, there was a man who lived on the moon! What if he and Iwaizumi flew there together and lived where there was no-one telling them they had to tidy up and go home? They would be the men on the moon. They would be together. 

Obviously, Oikawa, still very young, didn’t grasp that once tomorrow rolled around he would see his best friend again and they could play Spaceships and cuddle whilst watching scary cartoons. 

Iwaizumi had a pout on his face, he hated seeing Oikawa upset. Something about his glossy cocoa eyes made him feel sad. Iwaizumi would never want to be the cause of those tears. Never ever. 

So, disobediently, Iwaizumi shuffled so his back hit the sofa. The material itched his skin through his dinosaur t-shirt. This made his friend giggle deeply in his chest noticing that he wasn’t in any rush to leave. 

Oikawa, all milky armed and tufts of hair, laid his head against his best friend's shoulder. 

“I’m sleepy.” He mumbled, grazing his cheek against Iwaizumi’s shoulder so his brunette locks tickled his cheek. 

And he nodded in reply before uttering a fatigued, “me too.”

Iwaizumi remembered very little after that. According to the tale that his mother tells him, Oikawa and himself fell asleep just like that. Cuddled up and drooling on to each other. The tale also spoke that for a good seven months Oikawa couldn’t sleep on his own and always needed to hold on to Iwaizumi. 

Now, Iwaizumi, sleep-deprived and mind wracked with a real-life nightmare, looked back on that moment with an envious fondness. There would be nothing he wouldn’t do to be beside a happy, smiling Oikawa who would grab on to the edge of his shirt in his sleep for comfort. 

The clock ticked 11 pm. He hadn’t noticed it turn dark outside. Begrudgingly, Iwaizumi stood and shrugged on his — it was actually Oikawa’s — denim jacket. It provided no warmth (he doubted anything would melt the melancholic cold inside his chest) but the jacket did smell of Oikawa. A zesty earth smell with the hint of his lavender baby powder. 

Very faintly, almost unrecognisable, was Iwaizumi’s own perfume. He never wore it often, in fact he only really wore it on special occasions. A joyful ache clenched his fatigued blood thinking of how he and Oikawa used to hold hands walking through neon lit streets. Dark umber eyes and tufts of soft hair prettying his boyish figure. And his denim jacket. Far too large for his skinny frame and sleeves rolled up three times as his hands found home in the hairs on the nape of Iwaizumi’s short locks. 

The flurry of excitement between them as they giggled their way into a back alley. Hands everywhere but filled with a slight hesitance. The curve of his chin in Iwaizumi’s hand as he desperately clawed him closer. Freely taking his time to explore the dips in his waist and the prominence of his rib cage that thrummed with delight. Iwaizumi could still taste the sugary candy that sweetened Oikawa’s lips and he found he couldn’t get enough of that taste. A minty pepperiness and strawberry lip balm that softened his already perfect lips. He remembered briefly wondering if he tasted just as good, more of an afterthought really, and could only think of the cola bottles he bought from a street vendor with a heavy country accent.

Somewhere amongst all of it, with declarative hands that pinched subtly with the mantra of “mine,” Iwaizumi recalled thinking ‘I love him, I love him so much I don’t know what to do with myself.’ 

Oikawa smiled into his mouth and it was harder to kiss him like this. Iwaizumi didn’t want to pull away but now the boy was beginning to giggle softly, as enraptured in Iwaizumi as Iwaizumi was him. Carefully, as gentle as a kitten, he began to hide his face in Iwaizumi’s neck. The taller placed feather-like kisses into the taut skin, light enough that he would hardly feel it unless his attention was solely focused on the feeling; it was.

Iwaizumi’s hands held him close, placed underneath the denim jacket and gripping on to the cream sweatshirt. If he let go he was scared he’d float away and dance among the stars. If he let go Oikawa would just be a mirage, a perfect illusion he created. 

A loud noise startled them both, two pairs of dark eyes flitted to the thin opening of a myriad sky alive with the explosions of pinks and blues and gold. A low smoke settling across the darkness as the air filled with the incessant smell of bonfire and cinnamon. 

Gasping, Oikawa took both of his lover’s hands into his own. “C’mon, Iwa-chan! Let’s go watch the fireworks!” 

And how was Iwaizumi supposed to say no? How could he say no when Oikawa tenderly kissed the veins in his wrists and dragged him, looking at him with this devotion that said ‘you are my everything.’ 

So he let the taller take the lead. To follow him to the ends of the world. Wherever he would go, Iwaizumi was sure he’d always be there in pursuit. Oikawa shimmered under the moonlight. Fair skin glimmering and eyes reflective of the hues that highlighted the night. 

He danced, laughing with his body as he lifted his hand, urging Iwaizumi to join in with a gleeful cry of “Iwa-chan, twirl!”  
To which Iwaizumi uncharacteristically obeyed, too lost in his lover’s gaze to be flustered by the stares of street-lights. A smile gracing his tanned face as Oikawa followed suit and pulled him nearer. 

As they escaped the confines of the back alley and into the blooming night of bonfires and bustling street foods, Oikawa let go of one of their linked hands (Iwaizumi felt noticeably colder) but brought the other to hide in the safety of his denim jacket. 

Bright eyes, usually so alive, shook with fear. Was this okay? Iwaizumi curved his mouth up delicately, offering a determined look that said _‘It’s just us. We will be okay’_ before offering a slight squeeze to where they joined. 

They both flushed. And if their close proximity or shining admiration didn’t give away their love then the rosy cheeks most certainly would have. 

As another burst of light entertained the sky, an uproar of amazement filled the gathering crowd. Couples in matching yukata. Families holding up young children on their shoulders. Students giggling with friends. Oikawa and Iwaizumi. Everything seemed to stop; just for that moment. The gentle breeze, that waved the trees to wither their leaves, ceased. A stillness enveloped them and as Oikawa looked over to his boyfriend, watching the remnants of a shade of pink canvas his skin, he leaned in. 

So close that his cold nose bumped his cheekbone, eyes almost instantly glancing towards him. 

Oikawa had never been so happy as he was at that moment. Interlaced with the man he admired the most, his best friend from day one, his first lover, his first kiss, his first everything. The first person to make him truly treasure the tiny things like the way he could feel the blushing apples of Iwaizumi’s cheeks and every twitch under his skin as he refrained himself from taking Oikawa in his arms. 

“I love you.” Oikawa whispered. 

A gentle peck to his jaw. 

“I love you I love you I love you I love you!” 

_I love you so much that I think my chest might explode from sheer happiness._

And as he pulled away he noticed a glossiness to Iwaizumi’s eyes that as he blinked spilled like an overfilled waterfall. A gaze as fragile as glass was shared, an unspoken intimacy that bonded them further than friends, further than their relationship could handle, as their souls became one. 

The beaming look Iwaizumi offered, a rupture of gold lighting them up in a cascading spotlight, as he mouthed to his boyfriend, his soulmate: “I love you too.” _More than you will ever know._


	2. Pacing the room

By the time Iwaizumi got home it was too late to eat. Although he doubted he would have been able to stomach anything. As he swung the door open to his and Oikawa’s shared apartment he noticed a pair of his overpriced trainers on the floor and felt his heart twinge knowing too well that he wouldn’t be curled on the sofa, glasses perched low on his nose, as he waited for Iwaizumi to return. 

Traipsing his slippers against the wooden floor so they scuffed. If Oikawa was there he would have reprimanded him on it; something about him having to polish the floor or other domesticity issues. 

A desolate chill shivered his spine as he walked to the bedroom. Everything in here was designed by Oikawa’s taste and his sheer excitement of house shopping. The only item decided on by Iwaizumi was a large bed, bigger than necessary for the two of them but he recalled himself squeezing his boyfriend’s waist as he muttered a suggestive “we will find some use for it” into his ear that caused an immediate flush to grace Oikawa from the collarbones that peeked from his shirt to his full cheeks that couldn’t contain his bashful smile. The rest of the room reeked Oikawa’s design. The plain walls were littered with frames of them from their expedition across Europe after they finished high school. 

Them standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. Them in an Italian restaurant with piles upon piles of free garlic bread (the elderly women who owned the place called them pretty, healthy boys — “you must eat well!”) Oikawa with his arms outstretched over his head, hair flat to his scalp from swimming in the ocean with the flamingo dingy he had grown attached to behind him as they spent their last Euros in Barcelona. 

In the corners of the room were plants, wilting now that Oikawa wasn’t here to look after them and taking on a sickly pale colour. The moonlight emphasising the droop in the petals and they didn’t have long left. Iwaizumi sighed as he took hesitant steps to the bathroom, grabbing an old cup and filling it with water. 

On the rare occasion that Oikawa rose from the depths of slumber before him, Iwaizumi was always graced with the hushed singing of his lover as he repotted the flowers, humming the same faint tune to a song Iwaizumi didn’t know but always caught himself distantly tapping his fingers to, the english lyrics going over his head. It was moments like that he cherished the most. When Oikawa was totally oblivious to how wonderful he truly was. The dark joggers he was wearing low on his hips as he padded around the bedroom. Iwaizumi would meekly stretch from where he lay, groaning as he uttered a “it’s too early to be singing” and hiding his grin under the covers as the sound of footsteps came towards his direction followed by a dip in the bed. 

Iwaizumi, far less of a green thumb than Oikawa, poured the contents of the glass into the flowers, watching stilly as it mercilessly absorbed the water. 

“He will be back soon. Promise.” He spoke. 

The soil dried in response.

Nail-bitten fingers grasped for the curtains, shutting out the howling moon that weeps with the cries Iwaizumi could no longer let out. A suppressing numbness overtook his brain that made his steps weak like a zombie conscious that it wasn’t dead and wasn’t alive. Merely roaming with a hollowness gaping in their chest with their rotten flesh.

The dark of the room was friendly: it encompassed and welcomed. All his senses could fizzle out and he could enter an abyss of nothingness. No pictures of Oikawa watching him as he refused to move an inch.

His back met the resistance of the bed, neatly made bed sheets wrinkling under his weight. The last time the bed was used was before Oikawa… Before Oikawa left. His side of the bed smelt of him. The same scent that encompassed Iwaizumi in his denim jacket. Although this time there was a lemony fresh shower gel smell and maybe if Iwaizumi looked over to the bathroom door he would step out in all his glory, a towel wrapped around his waist. Smiling, alive and so stunningly ethereal. 

Squirming, Iwaizumi clawed at the sheets as the memory of his loving boyfriend haunted him. 

-x- 

Oikawa sat down beside him, a huff leaving his lips and not turning to look at Iwaizumi who was engrossed in a mobile game. 

“Hey, can we talk?” His voice was as gentle as a baby birds. 

And Iwaizumi, already concerned by his boyfriend’s behaviour, nodded his head sending a side eye to him. 

“I mean — can we _talk_ talk.” Oikawa urged. 

Which was strange to hear the worry that roughened his volume to a whisper. 

Locking his phone, Iwaizumi sat up and perched himself on his knees next to the taller man, letting out a panicked “is everything okay?”

Silently wishing his own curiosity didn’t betray him from the frown that settled over Oikawa’s skin. So, in the only way Iwaizumi knew, with a gentle fondness, he took Oikawa’s slender, calloused hands into his own. Their clammy warmth slickening his own skin but he didn’t mind, just reassuringly interlaced their fingers. 

“Everything’s fine — yeah. I just… Look — You can say no if you want. I’m just saying it — we can pretend that I never said anything.” 

Iwaizumi chuckled softly at his sudden nervousness, as cute as he found the stutter he couldn’t comprehend how overwhelmingly big this must have been to Oikawa to reduce him to a babbling mess. 

Oikawa huffed a deep breath. “I want you to make love to me.” 

And the words just hung above them. Short-cutting any reasonable and rational answers Iwaizumi was preparing. A double edged sword that could cut either of them in fear of rejection. It was strange, so weirdly strange how Oikawa, _the_ Oikawa Tooru, could make so many crude jokes until he was pushed away; was so vulnerable to the one who loved him most. 

“If that’s what you want, baby, then of course.” Iwaizumi replied, voice gentle and containing the smile that graced his face. Smile so large that it was almost artificial: he couldn’t help it. He was just too happy.

Oikawa let out a cheer, grabbing Iwaizumi by the front of his shirt and pulling him steadily so their lips found each other and the older of the two let out a strangled sound of surprise. 

“You-” Peck. “Mean-” Peck. 

He took Oikawa’s face into his palms, squishing his cheeks so his lips were pouted. 

“You wanna do it right now?!” He asked, astounded. 

It was one thing for the idea to be mentioned but a whole different ball game to actually having to do. It was like his volleyball team going out to play golf — none of them knew where to start. 

Oikawa nodded, eyes brilliantly bright and lips glossy. “I thought that was obvious.” 

“No!” Iwaizumi cried, the hands cupping a face began to go cold and clammy. “I thought you meant like, next year or at Christmas or something!”

An incredulous cry of “why would I ever mean that?” followed by an insecure “do you not want to?”

“No no no! No. I do want to — I very much want to!” Oikawa giggled at him. “But are you sure? Is this what you really want?” 

He nodded, holding on to his lover's wrists that were still by his face and brought the palm close enough to leave a tender kiss. “I’ve never wanted anything more. I’m so madly in love with you, Hajime. I wouldn’t want this with anyone else. It is you that I want.”

The air around them became static. Alive with the tension that thrummed between them and the love that binds them. Neither of them was certain what it meant but they knew it was what they wanted. To be close, to be together, to be one. As Iwaizumi traced the delicate curve of Oikawa’s lips he watched ardently as the boy's eyelashes fluttered shut. And so, pulse humming under his skin with fully known intentions, Iwaizumi kissed him for what felt like the first time. Letting his hands explore expanses of skin that were reserved for him to cherish. To let his body find the rhythm of the whirlwind waltz of discovering his lover. 

And it was like walking the roads that led him home. Oikawa’s fair flushed skin, dewy and shivering underneath Iwaizumi’s tanned self, despite being so foreign to him, felt so natural. In their shelter nothing could hurt them. It was only them. A world designed and lived by the two of them. A revolution of rolling waves that skimmed their shores and their tide powered by the giddiness of being together and facing the unknown which stood ahead of them. 

At one point, with Oikawa panting in his neck — little mewls spilling past his lips, Iwaizumi detached his mouth from where he was pampering his neck and simply watched. Watched as he made the man he loved the most the happiest he could. As he put his sole trust and appreciation into the one person he couldn’t live without. He couldn’t help the praise that tumbled from his mouth, unfiltered and made Oikawa keen into his touch. 

This, without Iwaizumi knowing it, was one of the happiest moments of his life. Loving with no limits, no strings, no bounds, no chains. Just him, Oikawa and their encompassing love. Consummating their bond by the joining of their bodies. Being capable of wiping away the raindrops that spilled from mocha eyes and he promised to himself he would never make Oikawa upset or leave him. Nothing brought him so much joy as when a cry of his name fell from loving lips that mouthed and gasped into his feverish skin. 

As they cuddled up, freshened by warm flannels and soft towels, eyes drooping with fatigue but glistening with the afterglow, Iwaizumi couldn’t help but feel thankful for the lover he found.


	3. Praying for you

42 hours. 

The recycled cardboard cup in Iwaizumi’s hand was scolding warm but he didn’t move from it, allowing it to blister the skin of his thumb because the pain reminded him this was real.

This was not a dream. 

Oikawa was awake. 

Iwaizumi received a call three hours ago, blurred and flustered from the sudden awakening from his deep slumber to the voice of a nurse, friendly but stoic, “Yes, he is awake, The doctors are doing a check up on him now.” And he hung up in pure astonishment, fingers fumbling with the lock button on his phone. 

So now he stood waiting outside the room which held Oikawa. He tried sitting down but became quickly restless and annoyed at his own fidgeting. His stomach rolled. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the caffeine pumping through his system or the worry that his lover wouldn’t be able to remember him. The yellow daffodils he bought from the hospital shop were beginning to droop — he had raced into the shop as soon as the doors opened at seven in the morning, a frenzied look in his eyes. 

And when he returned to the desolate hallways, pungent with the remnants of bleach, a nurse pulled him over to the side telling him that “he was speaking with the police at the moment.”

Iwaizumi scraped at the red mark on his thumb. Bringing it to his mouth to blow a stuttering cold breath over it. He nervously jittered, flickering over to the window and trying to peek inside. The blinds were shut. It was very unlike Iwaizumi to get so impatient, but everything ached and his soul felt like it was being tugged on a magnet and yearning to be complete with his lover once more. 

Finally, the door opened. Two large framed police officers poured out their boots clicking on the vinyl floor. A smaller framed woman, dark eyes and a pixie haircut, followed behind. Her name tag stated her profession as a psychologist. 

“Are you here for Tooru Oikawa?” She was strangely timid.

Iwaizumi nodded.

“I will have to be back later to talk with him, but I’m sure you are dying to see him.”

Dying didn’t quite cut it, Iwaizumi thought. Because dying alluded to an end and his torment seemed relentless like he was isolated in a frozen sea, wanting nothing more than to reach the shores of home. 

He finished the conversation with the psychologist, not really laughing at her attempt of humour despite noticing that she tried to ease the anguish in his dull face. The flowers trembled in his hand, the plastic they were in rustling with anticipation. 

He entered. 

Oikawa, as motionless as before, was lying on the bed, arms by his side like he was a mere vessel waiting for an entity to take over his fatigued frame. The only noticeable difference was that his eyes were open, blinking languidly. Eyelashes dragging against his dark, beaten, sockets. 

“Tooru.” Iwaizumi whispered, clenching at his chest as tears began to brim. Tears he didn’t realise he was capable of shedding. 

A head twisted to the door, matted hair bouncing across his pillow, umber eyes widening in acknowledgement. With lethargic movements, Oikawa tried to sit himself up, trying to force some strength into his arms so he could greet Iwaizumi. Pitiful whines slipping his mouth; since when had he been so weak? 

The elder choked on a sob, briskly meeting his bedside and pulling Oikawa tightly to his chest. 

“Hajime..” wheezed Oikawa, fingers squeezing into the material of Iwaizumi’s jacket. “Hajime. Hajime!” Letting his own overwhelming emotions flood out as he inhaled that all too familiar scent of his boyfriend. 

Their tears were loud, a cacophonic bird song of their despair. Weakened arms gripping on to one another in fear of letting go and this to all have been a wickedly beautiful mirage. Whilst they were enjoined nothing could hurt them. 

Oikawa was shaking with the strength it required to sit himself up, holding himself in a position that made his stomach twinge and a wound to reopen. Nothing, he thought, was as painful as what he felt in his heart that beat solely for Iwaizumi. His cheeks burned from where salt trailed down his skin and he was wheezing on a breath. Iwaizumi was no better. 

“I’ve been so worried,Tooru.” The elder blubbed, fisting the hospital gown in his grasp. “I’ve been a mess—” The rest of the words fell into his heaves for breath. 

Tooru hissed, exerting himself to pull Iwaizumi’s chest closer to his face so he could engrave his heartbeat into his brain. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” 

“Sorry? Baby, you have nothing to be sorry for.” He suddenly sounded so similar to how Oikawa remembered him, voice gruff and secure. 

And that’s how they stay, cuddled in an uncomfortable position, the IV drip in the younger’s hand pulled taught. But to Iwaizumi this was one of his most relieving moments. Finally his lover was awake and in his grasps and from now they could move forward and pretend this all didn’t happen. Pretend it was all a bad dream.  
There was something so comforting about Oikawa’s embrace. His frame was so skinny and he could feel the shallow rise and fall of his ribcage as his heart thrummed like a hummingbird in a cage. But Oikawa was not weak, he had toned muscles that rippled and lined his body so elegantly like he was crafted from the Gods. Perhaps he was, for there was no explanation to his divinity that was merely justified by human nature. He went far beyond mortality and, merely from the impression he left on Iwaizumi, was god-like in legacy. He was an immortal in the clutches of death. 

“Iwa-chan…” He rasped, distant and lazy. “Iwa-chan I don’t feel so good.”

“Hm?”

Gently, Iwaizumi pulled back, resting a coarse hand delicately on the back of Oikawa’s head. The boy’s eyes rolled slightly, head lolling where it was clasped. 

He whined, high and pitiful, reaching to claw his own throat in desperation. “Help.” 

Iwaizumi looked at him dumbfounded. As a clouded gaze passed over Oikawa as if he could no longer see Iwaizumi right in front of him. 

“I don’t want to die, Hajime. Please!” He whispered, body slumping into the grasp of his boyfriend. 

A delay halted any of Iwaizumi’s movements. A momentary lapse where he didn’t quite know what to do. Oikawa was heavy in his arms. Lifeless. Empty. 

Iwaizumi stood. Shrugging Oikawa off with a remote disgust. A natural response to the dead weight upon him that encompassed him like a manacle. 

“Nurse!”

A tall young male, adorned in the dark blue nurse uniform quickly noticed the terror-struck boy and was babbling complicated nonsense into a Walkie Talkie, ushering Iwaizumi away from the room as a gaggle of doctors and fellow nurses entered. They spoke in foreign tongues — or maybe it was his native language — no words were being comprehended by his brain. 

The nurse was speaking to Iwaizumi but he could barely make out the movements of his mouth. Blindly nodding along with a deranged look in his eyes. 

There was something about seeing Oikawa’s discomfort with his own bare eyes that was unshakably terrifying. The soullessness that suddenly possessed his lover and blanketed him in an eternal abyss was, by all means, disturbing. The lifeless limbs that wrapped their way over Iwaizumi like ivy up a wall were suffocating and choking him up. He was just as empty as Oikawa. 

There was a strange line between life and death. Between consciousness and unconsciousness. It was so obscured that it was hardly recognisable to the human eye. Because he had seen life — it was all around him — and knew of death but never had Iwaizumi seen the two blur. To see the desolate blankness as a flickering flame dispersed into smoke. He could understand the fascination with the liminal. Why serial killers became fixated by death and the slipping of human life from their own bloodied hands. Why scientists worked to their own turmoil in preventing such disasters. Of course, he would never go to that extremity but part of him was overwhelmed by this urge to protect Oikawa from the dirtied hands of the Grim Reaper. The thought and fear of death was one far beyond human comprehension. 

Whilst sat, waiting outside Oikawa’s private room (a view that he was well acquainted with now), Iwaizumi recalled the shallow breaths of his boyfriend as he fainted in his arms. Fainted, yes. 

A firefly of hope twitched in Iwaizumi’s belly. Oikawa was alive. He didn’t die in his arms like a wilting flower. This thought brought Iwaizumi to a mild round of hysterics. 

How _silly_ of him.

He should have known better, Oikawa was far tougher than what he let on. It was obvious in the way he presented himself. It was how back in high school he was completely crushed at not getting to National’s and for the following couple of days he was weeping about like a widowed wife. Everyone thought the worst, Oikawa was going to give up on the one thing which he dreamed of since a young age. And then he was back to life, all pretty smiles and flirting antics and a long gaze under the sunset as he took Iwaizumi’s hands into his own; “I’m going to Argentina… to play volleyball and to live my dreams.” 

Iwaizumi trembled as he forced a smile. “I’m happy for you Tooru, real happy.”

And that was the furthest from the truth. The crushing feeling of letting the one he loved the most fly off to a world that didn’t have him in. Whilst it was soul destroying, he knew, despite his internalised refusal to accept it, he had to let Oikawa go and live his dreams, and hope, with every fibre of his being, that Oikawa would never forget him.

He remembered the turmoil that wracked his brain as he walked Oikawa to the departure lounge. The boy adorned in his denim jacket and his newly bought travel bag slung over his shoulder. 

A bittersweet sadness hung over them both, a realisation that they may never see each other again. That the next time they would see each other was over the small screen of a phone, whispering lugubrious ‘I Love Yous’ from hotel rooms thousands of miles apart. 

But this was life, this was all a part of the grand game of growing up and it was only natural that they soared the sky to find their own. 

“Why do you look so sad, Iwa-chan?” Oikawa hummed, his gleeful steps slowing. 

Iwaizumi grumbled in reply “I’m not sad.”

“You are!”

“I’m not!”

“You are!”

“You little shit- I’m just going to miss you.” His cheeks flared pink, made worse by the teasing sound from his boyfriend. 

Oikawa stopped, his departure gate in sight. The portal between their new worlds glowing with the surplus amount of holiday-goers and families returning home from their vacation in Japan. He smiled wide, strained but effortlessly beautiful. Iwaizumi remembered thinking how unfair it was that he was still allowed to look so effortlessly beautiful. Typical Oikawa, one to get all dressed up merely to go on a flight at half past four in the morning. 

“I’m going to miss you too, by the way.” Oikawa sighed. 

An agonizing twitch bloomed in Iwaizumi’s chest. To avoid meeting those umber lagoons, Iwaizumi looked down and scuffed the toe of his shoe. 

“I know we said our goodbyes last night.” He nudged his leg against Iwaizumi’s, all-knowingly. “But you were the only person I knew who could drive me to the airport.” 

Iwaizumi chuckled, trust Oikawa to not mention he needed a lift to the airport until there was six hours before his departure. “At least we get a little bit longer together.” 

That made Oikawa grin. 

After a few electric longing glances were shared, a robotic female voice sounded over the tannoy, echoing across the expanse of the airport and accompanied by a cacophony of wheels on hard polished floor, 

“This is it…” Sighed Oikawa.

“This is goodbye.”

The air was heavy around the two of them, oppressing them both with the fear that comes with letting go, with the presence of change. 

Suddenly, Oikawa pulled Iwaizumi in for a hug to hide the tears that were brimming over his eyelashes, his grip tight as his nose rubbed the skin of his boyfriend's neck. Carefully, with stoic movements, Iwaizumi returned the embrace, feeling the soft tufts of hair under his finger tips. Oikawa was trembling. 

As quick as the embrace started, Oikawa pulled away; Glassy eyed and wobbling bottom lip. 

Just like that, he pressed his lips to Iwaizumi in a searing kiss. One that branded the elder and alighted his nerves white hot. Hands cupped faces, imprinting the memory of rouge cheeks, so one day, miles and miles and miles between them, their fingers will twitch at the thought of the other or naturally fold to the curve of the others face. A salty substance traced Iwaizumi’s bottom lip and he made a startled noise as he went to pull away, only for Oikawa to grip him from the hair at the nape of his neck; deepening and prolonging their kiss. 

“Wait for me.” Oikawa breathed, “I’ll come back for you. I promise. Just wait for me.”

And with a final, chaste peck he left. 

Of course, Oikawa came back. He always kept his promises. That’s the thought that reigned Iwaizumi’s mind as he took off his shoes in their shared apartment and headed to their kitchen. 

He wasn’t sure when the last time he actually ate proper food; there were no plates stacked by the side of the sink. Lonesome, sat a single mug— scummy with the residue of lemongrass tea. The sight of the kitchen spawned the growl of his stomach which had only consumed hospital coffee and stale convenience store snacks. 

As he reached for a packet of instant ramen, he hissed. The foil razor-sharp against a newly forming blister on the pad of his thumb. In the nerves that jittered him throughout the day, he had completely forgotten about his self-induced wound. With a begrudging huff, he headed to the kitchen shelf filled with medical supplies. 

The acrid tang of paracetamol as he opened the door reminded him of the hospital and spiked his pulse rate. He wondered if when Oikawa was better, he’d still fear that abstract medicinal stench. 

The cupboard, despite both males being relatively fit and healthy, was stocked full. With no order and strewn empty pill strips shoved in a catastrophic mess. Iwaizumi, with no real sense of direction on where plasters were kept, sifted his way through. 

And his hand unexpectedly froze. 

His heart dropped. 

Shakily — the bitter taste of bile rising at the back of his throat — Iwaizumi retrieved the item which caught his eye.

Velvet-smooth, luscious, soft. A miniature black box. Despite the nauseating feeling of realisation, Iwaizumi opened it. 

And there, blurring and clearing through his hot and heavy tears, was a ring. A glimmering silver band, thick in width and encrusted with glittering diamond gems. 

Ugly sobs wracked Iwaizumi’s chest, lightheaded with the intensity — and he knew. He knew it as clear as day, yet he still had to check. 

He reached for his jacket pocket, eyes screwed shut as he came into contact with a rounded shape of the same texture as the one he already had out. 

Side by side, a hideous laugh masqueraded by his grief, were two rings. Alike, but not identical. One which was to be given to Oikawa. The other to be worn by Iwaizumi. 

He couldn’t feel his heart as his sorrow consumed him. His weakened legs crumbled beneath him but he wouldn’t let go of the two boxes for the life of him. 

If Oikawa didn’t have the accident, would he have proposed that evening? If things played out differently, would he be calling Oikawa his fiancé?

—X—  
It was their anniversary. Iwaizumi left work early to prepare a romantic evening for them both. A giddy excitement enchanting him as he hummed to the song on the kitchen radio, a fragrant aroma of several side dishes bubbling and frying away nicely. Everything was going according to plan. 

He had showered and changed into a crisp white shirt and black trousers complimented by his indoor bunny slippers (obviously, Oikawa’s choice). The table was laid with battery powered candles setting a low lighting. 

He would never admit it, but Iwaizumi was quite the romantic. 

All that was needed was the arrival of his lover, Oikawa. For the umpteenth time that evening, Iwaizumi checked his trouser pocket. The sturdiness of the small box caused a grin to break out on his face. 

Tonight would be perfect. 

A home cooked meal by candlelight (even if it was artificial), cuddles on the sofa to a cheesy romance, Iwaizumi would set the mood, some loving and tender caresses, The Question would be asked, and with the hopefulness that he would say yes, they would head on up to the bedroom. 

He was just waiting on Oikawa. 

Half an hour later, he was waiting for Oikawa. 

Two hours later, he was still waiting for Oikawa. 

He hated to think it, but he’d been stood up. 

The food, which took far too long to prepare, had dried up and gone cold. One of the candles on the table had run out of battery and without Oikawa there, Iwaizumi felt like a fool. 

Sighing, disheartened, Iwaizumi cleared up. The uneaten food placed into Tupperware because if it couldn’t be enjoyed now then it could at least make good lunch for the rest of the week. 

And then Oikawa entered, yawning and reeking of sweat. 

Iwaizumi, overly agitated, pounced at him as soon as he entered. “Where have you been?” 

“Practice overran. I’m sorry, baby.” Oikawa grumbled, at his own ends. 

“Tooru, it’s 11pm. On our anniversary.” The elder snapped. His body seethed with the obvious fact that the only reason Oikawa was late was due to him practicing on his own.

Oikawa scoffed, “And? I can’t help that practice took longer than expected!”

“I know how much volleyball means to you, Tooru. I really do.” Iwaizumi paused to hold his voice. “But this? Don’t you think I deserve a bit of your time?”

Oikawa shook with bottled anger. “I’ve literally just stepped in the door… I smell like pure fucking shit and you’re already down my throat!” 

“Because I wanted tonight to be special!” He couldn’t help the rage that slipped into his tone.

“Yeah?” Oikawa growled, tongue in cheek. “Well happy fucking anniversary, Hajime. I’m going for a walk.”

The silence that followed the slam of the door was smothering. 

A good twenty minutes had passed when a bright blue light swirled outside their window. Curiously, Iwaizumi peeked through the blind to find it was parking just at the end of the street.

A seedling of doubt erupted in his stomach as he grabbed his jacket and walked towards the commotion. It seemed the whole street was out despite the late hour. 

What he didn’t expect to see, lifeless on the floor was Oikawa’s body. A pool of blood drooling from the crown of his head and illuminated by the ambulance light. A car, was pulled to the side, front bumper dented in an Oikawa shape. 

And just like that, Iwaizumi’s world came crashing down around him.

-x-

Iwaizumi sat on the floor, back against the cupboards and his entire lower half had gone numb. He wasn’t sure when he stopped crying but he had finally run himself dry apart from the occasional sniffle. Mindlessly, he ran his thumb across the engagement bands, the metal soothingly cool.

His empty haze was soon interrupted by the buzzing of his phone on the tiled floor. Vibrating about like an upturned beetle. 

“Hello?” He called absentmindedly. 

“Hello. Is this Iwaizumi Hajime? Yes, I’m here to speak about Oikawa Tooru. Do you have a minute?”  
—  
_**THE END.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round of applause if you made it here!! 
> 
> I was very nervous about publishing this so I would like to thank the CEO of Iwaoi @oikawonder for giving me the confidence to publish it!! (please do check out her work she is very talented and deserves a lot of praise) 
> 
> Any feedback (both good and bad) is greatly appreciated as I’m always down for learning where I need to improve. 
> 
> My Twitter is @tbzbaeki if you just wanna be friends or idk discuss motifs or something :]


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